Firsts
by Sweet Lunacy
Summary: A series of firsts for Jenny and Gibbs. One-shot.


**A/N: A little Jibbs fluff to brighten up your winter nights. A series of firsts in the journey of our favourite couple. Enjoy!**

* * *

He remembers the first time he saw her. Standing in Director Morrow's office, her long red hair swept up into a ponytail, black slacks, royal blue shirt, and those heels. Those god-forsaken ridiculously high heels that she'd insisted on wearing. They made her legs look impossibly longer, and her smirk as he'd glared at her had made him all the more intrigued by her. He was determined to figure her out, to know her better than even she did. Little did he know how true that would become.

* * *

He remembers the first time he called her "Jen". Her eyes had flashed with annoyance and anger and she had immediately asked—no, _demanded—_that he not call her that. He'd shrugged and flashed her his trademark grin, making a mental note to use the name whenever he wanted to rile her. How was he to know, years later, that it would become as sacred to her as a prayer when he called her by the nickname she had once hated? It became a term of endearment in its own right, and she cherished each time it fell from his lips.

* * *

He remembers the first time she called him "Jethro". It had escaped her lips in pure frustration and her eyes had widened as they'd darted to his. She had stuttered an apology, unsure of how he would react and when she had noticed him laughing, she'd frowned. He had slapped the back of her head and reminded her once again to never apologise. As time passed, he'd discovered that his name had never sounded better than when it was spoken with her smooth voice.

* * *

He remembers the first time he kissed her. It was inevitable, really. They had been dancing around the sexual tension for months and finally as his lips met hers, he had savoured the way they moved together. She tasted of chocolate and wine, which he had never developed a taste for, but he found it was sweeter than any drug when it lingered on her lips. She had pulled him closer and his fingers tangled in her long hair, marveling at its softness. Each kiss was better than the last, and it made him feel as though he'd drank an entire bottle of bourbon.

* * *

He remembers the first time they made love. That sweltering hot attic in Marseilles, the second night of their stakeout. The way her skin had trembled under his fingertips and the way she'd moaned his name never failed to make him smile. They had moved together effortlessly, and when they had finally collapsed in each others arms that night, he hadn't been able to let her go. He was sure that they'd probably missed something important to their mission, but neither one of them cared in the slightest.

* * *

He remembers the first time he saw her cry. Positano had been difficult for all of them, but Jenny had taken it especially hard. As he'd floated in and out of consciousness, he had felt her tears drip onto his hand and though she'd tried to hide it, the redness in her eyes gave her away. She had been so strong for such a long time and he had known that she would break eventually. He silently made a promise to be there to catch her when she fell.

* * *

He remembers the first time she said "I love you". On the bridge overlooking the Seine, as she had looked into his eyes. It had shocked him, and so he said the first thing that came to mind. A mocking "That'll be the day" escaped him, and he watched as the pain had filled her emerald eyes. He had regretted it almost instantly, but he knew that if he'd tried to fix it, she wouldn't have believed him. He could live without a lot of things, but Jenny's trust wasn't one of them. By the time he had realised she seriously loved him, she was gone.

* * *

He remembers the first time he said "I love you". Six years after that day on the Seine, she had come back into his life, now in a completely different capacity. He'd trained her, watched her grow more confident, and now he was seeing the results of those teachings. Gone was the young probie who had thrown up in autopsy and in her place stood a powerful and formidable woman not to be trifled with. He had nearly lost her at the hands of a disgruntled kidnapper and when he had wrapped his arms around her in the safety of his basement, he had finally said the words she had longed to hear since Paris. She had looked up at him, confusion in her eyes and as his lips collided with hers, he had felt her smile. He wasn't about to lose her again. Their first kiss in six years was going to be the last first kiss either of them ever had. Of that, he was certain.

* * *

**A/N: I wish Jenny had told him how she felt before she died. They deserved so much more than they had. **


End file.
